Memento Vivere
by Alexandra.Wins
Summary: A continuation of 'Undone'. What happens two years later when Sam and Ellie are thrown together again?
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to my Ellie/Sam saga Part II! Like I mentioned, this is the fic I originally starting writing, and it picks up in the episode 'Ellie'. I've changed a few things here and there, but that's about where I meant this to be in the series. It will also have some Josh/Donna going on eventually, and more interaction with CJ, Toby, etc.**

**I don't own the characters or the series!**

**Thanks for reading, enjoy _Memento Vivere_, or translated: A reminder of life.**

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**Sam**

Somehow, the days that matter the most are always entirely unexpected.

It's a typical Tuesday, and I'm following Josh and Donna, watching an epic battle play out as he repeatedly swats away a file folder that Donna is repeatedly trying to put in his hand.

"Donna, no. I'll lose it."

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I will. We both know I will."

"Josh, if you can't keep track of one folder for twenty minutes, I'm going to have to speak to Leo about demoting you."

"Fine, maybe that way I'd get some occasional sleep, or -"

"To the third grade."

He glares at her. "Hold it for me."

Defeated, Donna puts it to the bottom of the pile she's holding. "Fine, but if this keeps up, I'm going to need my own damn assistant. A Deputy Deputy Deputy Chief of -"

She runs into the back of Josh, who has stopped and turned to talk to me, and he shoots her an annoyed look. Donna opens her mouth to say something I can only imagine will be cutting, but I interject before they really get going.

"Josh, I need those stats by the end of the day..."

"Yeah, yeah," He waves me off, turning back to Donna and launching into a long and gratuitous speech about her job description and what it entails.

I turn back to the direction of my office, glancing into the foyer of the Oval and nearly tripping to a halt. Ellie Bartlet is sitting in a chair looking out the window, and the light is streaming in and illuminating her like a Vermeer portrait.

It's only been two years, but I can't believe she's the same girl.

Her red hair is still long, but it's kinky and wild, obviously not kept with the careful styling she used to do. She's wearing a drab, knee length wool coat and her face is makeup free.

And she's still so beautiful, it makes my breath catch.

I take a silent step into the room. "Ellie?"

She jumps, and looks up at me with wide eyes.

"Sam," She replies automatically, then looks at me like my name's all she can remember. I wait for her to say something else, but she just stares.

"What are you doing here?" I ask finally.

"I'm here to see my father," She answers, and that thought seems sobering enough to break the little spell she's under. She looks down at her gloved fingers and once again doesn't elaborate. I'm about to make cliché joke about the cat having her tongue, but the door opens and Ellie gets the all clear to head in.

"Do you want me to go with you?" I blurt out, instantly regretting it. If she says yes, I don't know what the hell I'm going to do, but for her expression she might as well be heading to the gallows, and I want to offer something.

She stops short and stares at me again, although the corners of her mouth up quirk up a tiny bit. "I think I can handle it, Sam, thanks."

All this time, and it's still perfectly clear she thinks I'm an idiot.

I nod and she disappears into her father's office. The rest of the day feels surreal, like I had a conversation with a ghost. Just as with the last time I met her, it's a similar feeling to being blind sided with a two by four. I find myself standing outside CJ's office with a dazed look on my face, where she almost runs into me on her way out and snaps something about prosecution for loitering.

When Leo sends a message that Ellie will be by to pick up some portfolios from me, I almost sigh from relief because now she can't slip away unnoticed. I would have had to loiter somewhere near the President to catch her, and somehow I think he'd be even less tolerant than CJ.

When she finally strides into my office two hours later, it's obviously she's been working herself up to it. She's walking too fast, with her face furrowed in forced concentration and she pretends to be absorbed in a memo she's holding. She stares at the paper about three beats too long, then looks up at me.

"My Dad wants me to grab the Reider portfolio."

I don't bother to ask what she's doing running errands, but raise my eyebrow. "Okay..."

Silence.

I gesture to the chair. "You want to sit for a second?"

She shifts uncomfortably. "I really have to -"

"A second?" I persist, and she slowly sinks into the chair. It's silent again, and I wait for her to speak. She doesn't , and when I see her open her mouth to insist on the time again, I hold up a hand to cut her off and go to the file cabinet.

"Your Dad says you're heading for Med school."

"Yeah, hopefully."

"Staying at Hopkins?"

"Yes."

"Thinking about oncology?"

"Yes."

"You doing okay?"

"Uh-huh."

There was a fraction of a second of hesitation. Anyone else would have missed it. I quirk an eyebrow at her to let her know I didn't, and she stares back stonily, keeping her face blank. I push the folder across the desk and she practically lunges at it, suddenly on her feet at the same time. "Okay, well, thanks..."

Suddenly I'm on my feet, too, and she takes a step back.

"Ellie, for God's sake, don't treat me like a stranger."

"You _are_ a stranger!"

Her reply throws me, because I expected her to deny it. Taking a moment to regroup, I edge around the desk to where she's standing. She takes another step back and I shoot her an annoyed look. I'm far from invading her space, and she's looking at me like I'm....

Well, a stranger.

I feel my eyes narrowing. "Why are you here, Ellie?"

She stays silent, but when she realizes I'm not going to say anything else, she glances up furtively for a moment and rolls her eyes. "I lost a bet."

I don't answer, trying to send a no-nonsense message. I don't want banter, I want the truth.

"I'm...doing an internship," She finally says after almost another full minute of silence.

"This summer?"

"Now."

"Why? The semester's not even over."

She falters again. "I'm helping my father - "

"Of all people, are you really going to pull that with me? You hate politics."

Silence.

"This isn't you," I insist, "We both know what I'm talking about."

"You have no _idea_ what you're talking about, Sam." She snaps back, and her voice is as cold and bitter as day old coffee.

It hits me kind of hard, but the inborn lawyer takes over, and I cross my arms over my chest. "So tell me."

"Piss off," She mutters, and despite everything, the corner of my mouth gives a tiny jerk. It just sounds so much like her.

"No can do, sweetheart."

She throws up her hands, turns, and grabs the folder off the desk before turning back. "Fine, Sam. You want to know? My boyfriend wanted to meet my parents. I...I brought him with me."

She looks up and stares me in the eye, trying to look ten times more confident than she feels.

It takes me about ten 'Mississippi's' to regain facial control enough to close my mouth. My shock at the thought of her with someone else almost trumps my curiosity, but I'm still wondering why she's so damn nervous about everything. I study her. She holds her ground, but I can see the folder quivering slightly in her hands.

"Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

As I predicted, her mouth stays stubbornly shut, and I straighten back up with a sigh and open the door for her. She steps around me and strides down the hallway, shoulders back, chin up, giving nothing away.

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	2. Chapter 2

Alix: I'm sorrier for Sam here, too, actually... :)

D'Arcy: No! There's no way that's going down in my world, lol. Except it's not my world, which reminds me:

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, nor any part of the West Wing.

**Enjoy chapter 2...**

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**Sam**

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It doesn't take long for the new guy to make an appearance.

In fact, he makes more of an _entrance en grande_, flinging the doors open and striding into the West Wing like it's property he recently inherited from what is undoubtedly an enormous trust fund.

Ellie's with him, but she's hovering back quietly, certainly not giving him a tour or anything.

I could be mistaken, but even the Secret Service agent escorting them looks annoyed.

Eyebrows already raised, I step out of my office, blocking the hallway as he comes around the corner, and sticking out my hand, "Sam Seaborn."

He stops, stares at me for about three beats too long, then puts out his hand like he'd really rather not. "Carson Payley."

Yeah, it's pretty much what I figured. Ten seconds in and I already want to deck this kid.

As soon as possible, he lets go of my hand like it's a hot potato. "Do you know where I can find Toby Ziegler?"

We're actually standing so close to Toby's office that he emerges just from hearing his name. He looks annoyed, as always.

"Carson Payley, meet Toby Ziegler. Toby, Ellie's boyfriend."

As they shake hands, Toby's eyebrows raise at me. I shrug discreetly. Ellie glares at both of us, reading our silent conversation easily.

"Nice to meet you."

"Hello, sir. I'm here about a job."

Toby's eyebrows go even higher. Her forehead looks like an accordion. "What job?"

"The one you're going to want to offer me after you read this." A resume appears like magic, and I almost snort, but hold it in. This kid's good. I mean, he's green as hell, he sounds like he got out of Personal Marketing 101 about five minutes ago, but he's got the act down in spades.

Unfortunately, he's taken way too big a bite of the apple. Toby looks at the resume like it's a used kleenex. "Huh. Well, I'm sure Ellie can show you where we accept entry-level applications downstairs. Nice to meet you."

He nods at Ellie, turns, and walks back into his office. I'm about to follow when Josh and Donna come around the corner. They're not bickering anymore; in fact, they're doing that thing where they walk with both of their heads bent to look over the same document, keeping up a clipped pace, something that I'm sure is going to one day lead to one of them falling down a manhole or a flight of stairs. Or in this case, just colliding with Ginger, who happens to be crossing the bullpen with a full pot of coffee.

Just as I'm about to intervene, Donna's sixth sense kicks in and she grabs Josh's arm and hits the brake. She looks like she's about to start scolding him, but catches sight of Ellie and stops, her mouth turning into a huge grin instead.

"Ellie?" She squeals, and Ellie smiles and looks like herself for the first time since she arrived as she and Donna tumble into a haphazard hug.

Then they're talking a mile a minute, cutting each other off and not caring.

"Your hair -"

"Two weeks ago. This coat -"

"On sale at Banana Republic."

"No makeup. You look like a scientist."

"Well, I'm trying."

"Have you -?"

"Oh yeah. You been to -?"

"Of course. We'll talk."

Josh and I are rolling our eyes good naturedly, as well as Leo, who's passing by, when all of a sudden the trust fund baby boyfriend speaks up out of nowhere.

"Jesus, Ellie, could you let your inner sorority slut take the backseat for a minute and introduce me?"

My mouth flies open, but Josh shakes his head and nods toward Leo, who's stopped in his tracks. He turns around and stalks back, and Josh and I instinctively shrink away from him, all too familiar with the expression he's wearing.

"Hey, kid," He says to Ellie, who manages a weak smile through her terror for her boyfriend.

Leo turns on him, looking a little reminiscent of Clint Eastwood in some badass Western. "What's your name, son?"

The kid knows he's stumbled into something over his head, but he's cocky until the last moment. "Carson Payley. Nice to meet you."

He sticks out his hand and Leo ignores it, saying nothing, until he draws it back slowly.

"How do you imagine the President would feel about you addressing his daughter that way? In the White House?"

"Addressing her -?"

"Maybe you want to reflect on your word choice. Respect for the Oval Office and all."

Even Carson Payley falters until Leo's flinty, blue eyed stare and swallows a little. "Uh, yeah, okay." He looks at Ellie, "We better go. We have dinner in -"

"Right." Ellie starts forward, looking relieved, but Leo grabs her wrist.

"How are you, hon?"

"Good, Leo."

"You sure?"

She gives him a hostile look usually reserved for the President. "Yes, Leo."

"How often does your boyfriend talk to you like he did just now?"

It's all I can do not to nudge Josh, but I know we'd both start giggling like schoolgirls.

"Leo, don't..." Ellie pleads, "We joke around, it's fine. Don't get all...y'know.."

Leo lets go of her hesitantly and steps back. "If you say so."

"I do. And we really have to go..."

"Come see me before you leave town."

Ellie glances at me quickly, then back at him. Apparently I'm the only one who knows she's staying here, but I keep my mouth shut.

"Sure." She grabs Carson's arm and starts leading him away. He follows without protest, looking a bit stunned.

There's brief silence, and Josh crosses his arms and leans against the wall. "Well, I don't like him."

"What's to like?" I agree.

"Why aren't you people working?" Leo demands, "This isn't happy hour."

"We were -"

"Leo, aren't you going to do something?" Donna interrupts, and everyone looks at her. She's hugging the binder in her arms tightly, her blue eyes big and worried.

"Don't worry about it, Donna, I'll take care of it."

"How?"'

I'm surprised. It's not like Donna to question anyone but Josh. Leo looks surprised, too, but he gives her a little pat on the arm. "I'm omnipotent in this place, you know that."

Donna relaxes a little and turns to Josh. "Meeting on the Hill in twenty."

She turns on her heel and walks away, and Josh and I migrate back to his office, grabbing a cup up coffee.

"So that's Ellie's new man." Josh looks at me carefully, and I concentrate on looking utterly nonchalant.

"Indigestion?" He asks. Apparently I've overdone it.

"No," I hedge, "Just wondering how she got duped into a relationship."

He raises an eyebrow. "He is rich, respectable, Ivy League caliber. What makes you suspect a duping?"

"Don't play debate with me. You know Ellie, that is not even in the ballpark of her type. That's the kind of shmuck she metaphorically beats up on the playground."

"Maybe he was overly obnoxious from being on his job mission."

"I doubt it."

"Well - "

"Josh." We look up, and Donna is standing in the doorway looking like she's about to explode. "Meeting. On the Hill. Now in eleven minutes."

"I'm _going_, Donna," He says, sounding for all the world like a teenager about to miss the bus.

"Go _now_, " she insists, "I am not going to field another call from Elaine Burkiss about how you should try to schedule meetings for when you actually plan to attend them. If you're late, I'm putting her through to you. And she's going to yell, Josh."

He scoffs, "Yeah, like I'm not used to that."

"If you've never met Elaine, I wouldn't be so flippant. On her off time, she wears flannel. And I'm pretty sure she outweighs you by thirty pounds."

Josh pauses, considering. "Yeah, okay." He swings his feet down from the desk and picks up his briefcase, heading for the door.

Donna waits until she's behind him to whip him in the back of the head with the folder they'd previously bickered over. He spins around and she slaps it to his chest, holding it there with one hand and muttering, "Third grade!"

When she's gone, Josh turns back to face me. "I've gotta run. Keep an eye on the brat. Let me know if he stages an uprising in the Oval."

I look at him haughtily. "As if I have nothing better to do than -"

Josh raises an eyebrow, and I stop. "Yeah, I'll let you know."

*

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**Ellie**

Just as I feared, Sam obviously sees right through Carson.

If he could just be slightly less astute, my life would be so much easier. Now I'm going to have to work my ass off to keep them apart, which is going to be difficult since Carson is about five minutes away from pitching a tent and camping out in the middle of the bullpen.

I keep racking my brain trying to figure out if I in any way led him on about the perks of dating the President's daughter, because for some reason he's convinced he's walking away from this visit with a job on Pennsylvania Avenue.

I can't even convey how much that is not a possibility. He's so young, such a bull in a china shop, and lacking about fifteen years of experience as a political operative. And any other person, any other day of the week, I'd just tell them that, no problem. But Carson is...intense. He's passionate and argumentative, which is undoubtedly why I was initially attracted to him. Plus, the boy's got a body.

There's something else, though. He doesn't argue like the people I know. He gets frustrated, irritated, and slams his hands into doorframes and against window panes. The last time he lost a debate, he put his foot straight throught the drywall of his apartment.

For all of my worldly wiles, I don't know how to handle that. My Dad does all his verbal sparring with humor and wordplay and trivia, even when he's pissed. He's not a violent man. I never learned how to deal with this.

Sometimes it's me.

He's squeezed my arms so hard that I had little fingerprint bruises for two weeks. Once, during an argument, he put the heel of his hand to my back so hard my knees buckled. He caught me and was whispering contritely in my ear before I even regained my breath.

It kept getting worse, but it wasn't a predominant part of our relationship. I mean, I'd been having my ass grabbed in dark corners since I was young. It didn't seem so strange.  
Besides, I'm tough. It's important to me to be tough, and I hide things naturally. From my agents, my parents, my sisters...I handle things on my own, and I don't ask for help.

It's okay that way, but this time I'm in over my head and I know it. Carson is scaring me, and not asking for help means making up some ridiculous reason to get away from school, get away from him and come home for a while. I'm telling myself it's fine like this. I'm telling myself I can get away for a while and he'll forget all about me.

Maybe I'm right and maybe I'm not, but right now, all I want is to avoid a scene with him. Being around Sam after all this time already makes me nervous, and being around him with Carson in tow is making me a wreck.

I was freaked to see him today. Every time I spend ten minutes or more in his presence, I lose the ability to have normal conversations and have to expend all my energy controlling the urge to crawl into his arms and pretend it's just us in the room.

As much as I hate it, have always hated it, Sam Seaborn reads me like a children's book. One cautious look, one little jump, and he'll know instantly. I'm pretty convinced he already half knows. And he's not going to like it.

I've got to get this over with as quickly as possible.

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**Feedback is love. 3**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you guys sooo much for the reviews, I love hearing from you all...sorry my updates take forever, it seems like there's always something getting in the way. I just moved overseas, that's my latest excuse. Anyway, enjoy chapter 3! xoxo**

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**Ellie**

In retrospect, I'm relieved it ended the way it did.

I still don't know exactly how to explain what happened with Carson, except that it would have evolved into something deeper and uglier had I keep it under wraps in Baltimore. But it came to an abrupt and fairly tidy end, over just a few minutes in my bedroom in the Residence.

As tidy an end as something so incredibly messy can come to, anyway.

The storm had been brewing ever since we'd arrived in DC. Carson was in a mood, no doubt a result of the numerous rejections he'd received from the senior staff, all of whom barely managed to contain their pitying smiles at his zeal.

As I walk out in my gown for the evening, a plain black Versace, his eyes scrape over me so viciously I'm surprised there are no physical abrasions.

"Aren't you going to wear something over that?" He snaps. It's a regular thing. He tends to imply that I'm doing something wrong if he feels insecure.

I roll my eyes and grab the matching silk wrap. "Happy?"

He doesn't respond, glaring at my sarcasm."Is Mr. Ziegler going to be there tonight?"

"Toby?" I'm confused. Even he shouldn't be dumb enough to further prod Toby for anything. I mean, the man's reputation does rightly precede him.

"Yes or no, Ellie."

I'm so fed up with him. I'm so worn down and exhausted from trying to anticipate his moodswings.

"I don't _know_, Carson," I snap, turning to the mirror and uncapping the tube of lipstick in my hand, "Even if he is, you don't have a chance in hell with him."

It all happens very quickly. I don't hear him get up, don't see him cross the room. I just feel myself spun around, hear the snap, and find myself bent over, both hands clutching the edges of the dressing table to keep from falling. I pick my head up to see my reflection, staring up from under my hair. The small smear of blood on my lip matches the red of the lipstick in my hand, and for a moment I'm mesmerized between them. By the time I've recovered enough to look for Carson, the only evidence he was there is the door, swinging slightly from his exit.

I turn back to my reflection and thumb the blood away, then slowly apply the lipstick instead, camouflaging it completely. I wonder if that just really happened, or if I imagined it, but the lingering footprints in the plush carpet leading up to me are unwelcome proof. Retracing them backwards, I carefully place my stiletto clad feet in each of his footprints and slowly make my way back to the couch, where I sit still and bring one hand up to either side of my head. I close my eyes and press gently on my temples, trying to calm down.

My heart is pounding and my throat is constricted, and everything seems sort of murky until I hear the door swing open again. All of a sudden everything snaps back to focus, and I go into fight or flight, sure it's Carson. A hand lands on my shoulder and I hear myself give a little yelp, jerking away and tumbling off the couch . I've scrambled backwards a few feet before I realize nobody's grabbing me.

I crack open one eye and find Sam staring at me with a blank expression.

Self consciously, I smooth my skirt down a bit from where it's ridden up, and move to get up. His hand appears to help me, but I look away from it, grabbing the arm of the couch to pull myself up instead. His face is still blank; apparently at a loss for what's going on. We stand and contemplate each other for a moment, as I try to hide the fact that I'm shaking mildly from head to toe with adrenaline.

"Where is he?"

Or maybe he's not so much at a loss. I've never heard him speak in this dark tone of voice before, and I blink in surprise. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Tell me where he is, Eleanor."

Now he sounds like my father, and a nervous giggle bubbles up in my throat that I have to bite back. He doesn't seem to notice, so I try pretending I'm shocked and annoyed by his implication.

"You startled me, Sam. Let's not get crazy with the conclusions, okay?" I paste on a smirk and head for the door.

*

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**Sam**

A slap in the face, that reaization is. No pun intended.

That kid...that little Hopkins prick...has been messing with her.

Then I almost laugh, because this is Ellie Bartlet. Ellie Bartlet who doesn't even let the President of the United States push her around, much less some shmoozing, upper crust Mama's boy.

But when I look at her face again, the laughing instinct dies where it started. She's scared. Right now, in this moment, she's scared. Of me.

I don't really know what to do with that. No woman's been frightened of me, ever. While I'm standing there paralyzed, with the wheels in my head turning at warp speed, she makes a lunge for the door.

_Oh, hell no. You're not dodging this one._

I grab her arm and pull her back inside, slamming the door. She cringes, and then her eyes are on mine, and I still can't believe she's looking at me like that. Like she doesn't know what I'm going to do.

Where's that precocious girl? Her eyes tonight are hollow.

She realizes her mistake and looks down, jerking her arm out of my grasp at the same time.

"I'm leaving," She says, but it's a request and not a statement.

"No, you're not." She doesn't move or protest, keeping her eyes down, and I try to soften it up a bit. "You're going to sit down and talk to me."

"Forget it," She counters, and she's a little more sure of herself this time.

I reach out and put my hand on her shoulder. "What happened to you? As long as I've known you, the last thing I've ever been able to do is shut you up."

"I can't do this, Sam." She shoves my hand away, but in a way she doesn't even really seem to be talking to me. "I can't...do this anymore."

"Do what?"

She shakes her head, "Noth-"

"So help me God, if you say 'nothing' one more time..."

She obeys, lapsing back into that irritating, newly acquired silence instead. I hold back my frustration because she still looks so shell shocked, and she's about to have to go out on a dance floor and play First Daughter all evening, which is going to be hard enough as it is.

Even so, there's still a faint red mark on her left cheek that's putting my blood pressure into the red zone, and I can't let it lie without saying anything.

"There are only two options here," I tell her quietly. "One, your agents can get him out of here, quickly and quietly. Two is that I get him out of here myself, and I can't promise exactly how that one plays out."

Her head snaps up. "You _can't_ cause a scene about this, you know that. There are more important things going on tonight -"

"Not to me."

She kind of looks like she's torn between kissing me or stomping on my foot. I'd forgotten how much I missed that look.

Instead of doing either, she mutters, "I'm not a stupid girl."

I squint at her. "What?"

"I'm _not_ a _stupid_ _girl_," She enunciates. "I'm not some weak minded, flaky girl with self esteem issues. I never thought..." She trips over the rest of it, trying to sort it out. How she got here, like this.

Before I can say or do anything, she heaves a sigh, squares her shoulders and heads for the door.

"Whoa, whoa,whoa..." I go to after her again, worried that she's just going to go about the evening as planned.

"I'll take care of it, Sam," She says, without turning around, and I stop and let her open the door. She pauses. "You won't tell anyone about this, right?"

She just kills me, because I want to tell _everyone_. I want to tell the Secret Service, the press and especially the President, so he could staple a flag to that kid's ass and mail him to Bahrain.

But that's not my place, so just say, "No, I won't," and let her go.

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**Sam**

"...so then, Donna's freaking out because it turns out the ambassador is allergic to crustaceans, and he'd just hoovered down a plate of crab cakes like it was nobody's business..."

It's the next evening, and I'm twirling a pen between my fingers, tuning in and out of Josh's story about the Ambassador's Banquet as we lounge in his office. I glance at my watch. Ten-thirty. I should probably head home by eleven.

"...you'd think, if you were deathly allergic to something, you might throw a question or two out there about what you're eating instead of just leaving your life in the hands of a bunch of stupid Americans, right? I mean, that's what he sees us as, and probably moreso now..."

I drop the pen to the desk and leaned forward intently, resting my elbows on my knees as I study Josh, who has just finished the story and is having a good laugh.

"Have you ever hit a woman?" It's like my mouth has developed sudden independence from my brain. I can't get what happened last night out of my head.

If I listen hard enough, I'm pretty sure I can hear crickets.

"What?" Josh finally asks incredulously, putting his chair back on all four wheels and furrowing his brow at me.

"Have you ever -"

"Why would you ask me that?"

"I'm -"

"Do _you_ think I have?" Josh's tone is offended, and I hold up a hand to stop him.

"I didn't mean it as an accusation, I just...." I stop and rest my head in my hands for a moment before looking back up at Josh, "I didn't mean that. It's just been on my mind, that's all."

"Why would that be on your - " His face darkens again. "Tell me some Republican bastard didn't hurt Laurie..."

That's interesting. I always thought he didn't like Laurie much after the whole Lillienfield thing.

"No," I try to deflect, "I just...the Violence Against Women Act was one of the things left out of Senator Reidel's amendment today."

Josh is smiling in amusement. "Your mouth is telling me you have a pair of twos, but your face says royal flush."

I open my mouth to protest again, but change my mind. This is Josh.

"Okay, there's someone."

"And you say _I_ have a bad poker face."

"It's Ellie."

"Ellie who?"

I keep my mouth shut, waiting for it to come to him. He raises an eyebrow.

"Sam? Ellie wh -" He stops, and there's very nearly a light bulb above his head. Then he acts out my first instinct, and starts cracking up. When he sees I'm still serious, he waves a hand at me dismissively. "Oh, Sam, come on....Ellie _Bartlet_? That kid can more than take care of herself. And if she couldn't, her father would, and for when her father's not there, there are these special people with guns that he hired to take his place."

"They're not there all the time," I point out, "She's always had the smallest detail, she's allowed to have boundaries from them..." I almost stop, but change my mind at the last second, "...and she's quite adept at ditching her agents, anyway."

Josh stares at me, drumming his fingers on the table, then stands up and starts to pace. I notice he isn't smiling anymore.

"Listen, Sam..." He pivots to face me. "We..I...a few people know that something happened with you and Ellie, back at the beginning of the President's first term."

I open my mouth, but he stops me, and he's very serious now. "Don't. Don't tell me anything. Absolutely nothing, Sam, because it can never be said aloud. She was very young, and you can't ever admit anything about it. Do you understand?"

I nod.

"Does _she_ understand?"

I nod again, and he picks up the pacing again, "The thing is, you're probably just feeling a little overprotective, you know? I mean, did she tell you something happened?"

This part's tricky, considering I'm supposed to be keeping my mouth shut. "No, she just...I know her, Josh. And even if I didn't...I mean, she..." I trail off, but he's already giving me a look, so I sigh and continue, "It was just obvious...you saw how he was with her..."

For someone supposedly so eloquent with words, I'm doing a really crappy job stringing together a complete thought. My meaning must show, though, because Josh looks concerned now, and he's sitting back down.

"Is that why she's here?"

"Well, she said she was here to work on some kind of political internship, but..."

Josh snorts. "Yeah, right!"

"I don't know what to do."

"What would you _need_ to do? She's here now, it's not like she's going to have any problems inside the White House."

"It still happened, though, it still matters. I feel like I have to do something."

"Why, Sam? She's not helpless, she got herself down here -"

"Because she'll never tell anyone about it. I know she didn't tell her parents why she wanted to come back....I just hate it that she insists on dealing with everything alone."

He's smiling again. Well, more like smirking. He's about to make fun of me, I can tell.

"Sam, they're not going to revoke your suit of armor just because you couldn't be a shining knight to every damsel in - "

I run a hand through my hair and stand up, "Yeah, I know. I've gotta get home."

"Okay. Briefing for CJ by staff tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure."

I walk out of the building with my brow furrowed. I know from the low hum of gossip this morning that Carson Payley made an unexpected trip back to Baltimore last night, but no one seems to know any details as to why.

Josh is right; I could just label this as being over and leave Ellie alone and try to forget it ever happened. Maybe I even should. But I know I won't sleep well that way.

I change my mind three times on the walk to my car, but by the time I get in and start the engine, I have my cell phone out, putting in the numbers from memory.

***********


	4. Chapter 4

**Alix: Don't be so hard on yourself! Everyone has courage in their own way. :)**

**Thought I'd go ahead and post the resolution to Ellie's boyfriend drama...next chapter skips ahead a bit. Enjoy xo**

*

***************

**Sam**

*

She didn't want to see me. I had to leave a message threatening to show up at her door before she'd even answer the phone, and even then she balked and denied and tried to change the subject. Unfortunately for her, I argue for a living and her stamina just wasn't up to par.

I slip away after lunch on Monday, not even telling Cathy where I'm going. The President is in California, the First Lady is in London, and Ellie is sitting by herself in the Residence living room, staring out the window over the back of the couch, her chin resting on her arm.

"Hey, kiddo."

I keep my voice low on purpose, but she still jumps. Still, when she sees it's me, I get an unexpected smile, and she looks unquestionably better than she did on Friday night. Stronger, not so mousy and fragile.

"Samuel."

That prompts me to smile back. She only occasionally uses my full name, as a term of endearment. She's more conservatively dressed than I think I've ever seen her, with a long sleeved, high necked black tee shirt, and a pair of baggy, well worn jeans. A thick black belt makes sure they don't ride low, and even her feet are covered in a pair of those creepy, furry toe socks.

Her hair is thick and long, and so freshly washed I can still smell the Dove shampoo. Without hesitating, I reach over and indulge myself in a long brush of it, pushing my fingers in deeply and running them through, hair rushing over my knuckles like silk. She closes her eyes and leans into it, and it all feels natural, like it could just as easily be a day two years ago.

Like some things never change.

I want to keep touching her. I could stand here and do this for hours, but instead I withdraw my hand and stare out the sunny window, trying to regain my footing in the present.

She surprises me by speaking first.

"Sit with me, Sam."

Her voice is different. Her tone is casual, normal, but there's a subdued weariness I've never heard in it before. It brings me firmly back to my mission, and I accept her offer, perching on the edge of the sofa next to her and resting my elbows on my knees.

I try to remember how I was going to start.

*  
***************

**Ellie**

*

I can't tell if I'm in the moment so much because it's real or because it's surreal.

The rare silence, the heat of a sunny day beating in the window on our backs, the gentle timbre of his voice that I've adamantly refused to miss while I've been away... or the sunlight catching the natural highlights in both of our hair and making our faces glow.

It's a feeling of safety, of hope. Right this second, I'm certain I'm going to be okay, and I can't do anything but stare at Sam and want desperately to make him believe it, too.

He already knows everything, I can tell. Mom missed it. Liz, Zoey, Dad, everyone. They've always been so easy to fool with a smile and a chirp. Not Sam. Not one word spoken, but he already knows.

He's the only one who worries about me.

I know it's not entirely true, but just now it feels real enough that unexpected tears spring to my eyes and I have a sudden surge of overwhelming gratitude.

I pull myself out of a sitting position to kneel on my knees next to him, and as he glances up, I wrap my arms around him from the side and hold tightly. He sits patiently and lets me hug him, showing reciprocation only by turning his head and breathing deeply into my hair. After a minute I pull back, cup his face in both hands and give him a chaste kiss.

He looks shocked, but pleased. "Is it my birthday or something?"

I smile, "Something."

"We're still going to talk, you know."

"Yeah," I say noncommittally, but even that isn't enough to ruin the moment. He reaches over and does that thing with my hair again, but I keep my eyes open this time, looking into his. They're like a mirror.

"Here we are," I whisper, "Right back at the same place."

He lets his eyes flick over me. "Not exactly same place..."

I shiver a little, and even though I don't really mind the implication, it brings memories, and the moment ends. I slowly withdraw from his hand, move back to my side of the sofa and begin studying my fingernails, which he correctly interprets as a beginning of The Talk.

"Is this going to be easy or hard, Ellie?"

I just shrug, and he sighs. "It doesn't have to be..."

I shrug again mid sentence and it cuts him off as if I'd spoken.

"Why won't you talk to me?" He asks, as if already defeated.

"I can't." It feels true. I wish I could elaborate more, but it never works.

"Yes, you can," He says encouragingly, "You can tell me."

"Not this."

Talking makes it real. Making it real makes it hurt. Is it that hard to understand?

"But you don't know why?"

"I'll get upset, Sam."

"I've seen you upset before, Ellie."

"It's different. We're different now..." I pause, allowing myself to glance up so I can see his eyes, "I'm different."

"I know it's hard, but do you understand why...." He trails off, and needs a moment to think, too. I guess I'm not the only one having problems articulating. "I know you don't need help. I know you can take care of yourself. But if I'm going to keep this to myself, I need to know you're okay. I need to know what happened."

It's weird to think of someone being afraid for me. Everyone's always so sure I've got it together. Honors courses. Med school applications. Fancy internships. If they knew how close I always was to giving it all up...How desperately I wanted to.

Sam's looking at me like he can hear every word I'm thinking, and I grope through my memory for the last thing he said.

"No, you don't. It'll piss you off. There's no gain in that."

"I can't promise it won't piss me off. But I can promise I'll get over it, and you'll feel better."

I'm cracking like a very large pane of glass, spider web fractures slowly running through my resolve, deepening with pressure, all hanging on the moment when I know everything will fall to pieces.

"Why do you have to make everything sound bigger than it feels?" I whisper flatly, and he moves closer to me, because now he can tell I'm going to talk. The door's open, and he moves right through it. He curves his palm around the back of my head and pulls it to his shoulder, reaching his other arm across my torso so I'm pulled to him limply like a rag doll. I turn my face into his neck, trying to hide, and when he whispers, his lips brush my ear.

"Tell me."

I take a deep breath, and tell him. Everything. And it sucks, because telling the grand story of how you're just a statistic, following in the same footsteps as the women you used to scoff at, is never fun. The story of leaving, going back, and stupid second chances is nothing unique.

Well, with one small exception. If I left and it went wrong, it would be in the paper. It would be asked in interviews, speculated on by the public and thrown at CJ in the briefing room. Amy Gardner would be on the phone insisting it was my duty to women to hold some kind of press conference. And all of the political ramifications pale in comparison to the look that would be on Daddy's face. That godawful wounded look he gets when bad things happen to people he cares about. I just couldn't take the thought of that look. I thought I could fix it on my own.

"So that's it," I finally finish, and my voice is tight. "Can it just be over now?"

"Yeah," Sam mutters absently. "It's over."

I was right, I know he's pissed. But he's doing a better job than I thought he would of not doing that big show of male indignation on my behalf, storming around the room and threatening to kick people's asses.

"You're not worried that when you go back -"

"No. Carson graduates this semester, and I'm sure someone will have hired him at some douchebag law firm by then, for ten times more money than he deserves."

"It won't last. In five to ten years, he'll get convicted of embezzling and end up in prison. It's written all over him."

I manage to laugh a little. "We'll see."

"What happened last night? When he left? Did..." He swallows, wanting to ask the pointed question, but changing his mind. "Was everything okay?"

"Yeah." I pat his hand, amused by his awkwardness. "That's one of the nice things about having a government trained security team on your side. I talked to Kimberly and she took care of it. I went out on the balcony, and when I saw them put him in a car, I came back inside. He's emailed me, but..."

I wave a hand carelessly. "He's not going to chase me. How could he? White House. Secret Service. Kind of a losing battle. Carson's very driven, but he's not a moron."

"I don't know that I can completely agree with that, but whatever." He taps my hand with his index finger a few times and asks, "So what now?"

I shrug. "Take a break, I guess. Fulfill this ridiculous internship cover story and do grunt work for a while. It's not like it looks bad on an application."

"Want to start now?"

"Huh?"

"I'm having some trouble with a couple of Senators. You want to get their sons on the phone and help me out?"

This time I laugh for real. "I can't believe you remember that."

"You can't? I thought I was about to get my ass handed to me on a silver platter because of you. It's not a trauma two short years can erase."

"You were such a baby."

"You were playing chicken with my career."

"Like it mattered. You could have been making five hundred an hour in the private sector in about two seconds." I reach out and pinch his cheek. "Or anything else you wanted."

"You took years off my life that summer. In more ways than one."

"But I made it up to you, didn't I?"

He blushes, and I shake my head. "Seaborn, you are too easy."

He gets up and holds out a hand. "Come on. I have about nine thousand file folders to be sorted."

"Wow. Nice pitch. I'm really dying to get off this couch now."

He pulls me to my feet, then hugs me. "Have I told you I've missed you, kid? Even with all of your nonsense?"

"'Nonsense'? How politically correct of you."

"They didn't hire me for nothing."

"Toby says they did."

"I don't the two of you hanging out, you give each other ideas."

"Ideas?"

"Of new ways to abuse me."

"Well, like I said, you're too easy."

"Do you want to come back to work with me or not?"

I hesitate. Part of me doesn't want to sit around moping all day, but I still feel shaken. I look at Sam uncertainly, then shake my head. "I think I need a day to get my game face back on."

The humor on his face flickers back to seriousness. "Call me if you need anything?"

I flop back onto the couch. "Totally. Because if you're discussing the Middle East and I want candy, I think we both know that M&M's trump world peace."

He gives me a faux stern look. "Only for today."

"Get out."

********************


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey all...enjoy chapter 5...**

**************

**Ellie**

It's raining, and I'm hanging out my window, smoking slowly. I haven't had a clove cigarette since senior year of high school, when Javier shoplifted a pack from the 7-11, but for some reason tonight I couldn't live without one. It burns unpleasantly, but I love the sickly sweet smell.

I glance over my shoulder guiltily to where Sam is passed out on the sofa, but he hasn't moved, and I'm amazed. He's usually like a bloodhound when it comes to me and nicotine, and I tend to get the third degree if I've so much as walked _near_ someone smoking.

He must be really exhausted. I glance at the clock and startle, wondering why I'm not. It's two in the morning, and I've been up for twenty hours. I take another drag and wonder if I should text CJ to see if she wants to go for a run this morning. She never seems to sleep, either.

It's more fun than I expected hanging out with staff again. There's a more formal dynamic now, as they're actually working in the White House instead of aspiring to work in the White House...but there's also a sense of confidence that hadn't been there before, for the same reason.

I'm not a political girl, but watching the business of the whole world filter through those little offices is pretty cool, even for me.

Plus, I've finally turned twenty-one, which means I can actually order drinks after work, instead of sneaking the ones Donna confiscates from Josh. Toby seems to have deemed me old enough to be worthy of occasional small talk, and even let me share a cigar with him one night. I blew a smoke ring at him, and he was so impressed by my non-coughing that he gave me a little box of Cubans for my birthday. And then promptly told me that if I ever told my father, he would personally set the Oval Office on fire and blame me.

I've gotten an apartment nearby that I love. Of course, I could have stayed in the Residence, but I just couldn't bear it...White House or not, it's my parent's house, and three weeks of daily morning trivia sessions were reminiscent enough of high school to be enough for me to start looking.

I have a great little one bedroom now that I decorated myself, with my stuff strewn everywhere in a big, beautiful mess, and I have it all to myself. I specifically chose it because it was the one the Secret Service declared secure enough not to need in-house agents. Kimberly, the head of my detail, has the apartment across the landing. They keep another agent in the lobby, and have plenty of surveillance. But I can be alone as much as I want. Although, Sam does visit me a lot. It took a couple of months for him to quit treating me like I was made of glass, but he's Sam, and he worries like a girl no matter what. I see him every day at work, and often after, and we've fallen back into our old routine of bickering and no boundaries. I answer his cell phone, he tucks in my shirt tags, I sit on his lap, he's paranoid someone will walk by. In between, we get a lot of work done.

But we're just friends now. Despite the tension in the beginning, and maybe even what we secretly want, we mutually decided that sneaking around was not something we wanted to burden ourselves with. Still, sometimes I catch him looking at me and wonder...it's not like we can be one hundred percent autonomous to our history. Working late together in the office, watching the news at night in my apartment. Sometimes it's hard.

Luckily, when it gets that way, there's always plenty of work to focus on instead. It's nice to be able to rely on the fact that the world keeps turning no matter what. It's a great distraction.

Grudgingly, I admit that I can see how people get so addicted to these jobs, how an entire administration can seem to pass in the blink of an eye. Things matter here. There's no bill or amendment or act passed that doesn't effect hundreds or thousands or millions of lives. Despite my known disdain for White House business, I can't bring myself to truly resent being here when I think of my friends at school who spend their evenings laying around a dorm room, smoking weed and waxing poetic about how they might have a chance to one day even _glimpse_ the things I see around here.

My life in Baltimore seems like it was a million years ago, even though it's barely been three months. I don't think I even realized how badly I needed this break...no exams, no one staring at my Secret Service detail, no Carson Payley. I've relaxed a lot, but I'm still more breakable than I was before. I still hate how everything changes.

I flick the butt down two stories into the street, watching little sparks scatter as it hits the wet sidewalk. Then I close the window and turn the TV off, considering the reclined form of Sam, head tilted back, mouth open unattractively. I don't want to wake him, so I just go to click off the lamp.

Naturally, his eyes fly open the moment the room goes dark.

"What are you doing?" He asks, wide awake, and his voice isn't even thick from sleep. The man lives for emergencies.

"I _was_ going to let you indulge in a few of your ten weekly hours of sleep."

"Mmm." His head falls back again, but his eyes stay open.

"You're already thinking again," I accuse. "Pathetic."

He rubs his face with his palms and reaches for the light. "Do you have any coffee?"

I slap his hand. "Leave that. And you're not drinking coffee at two in the morning. Not in my house."

He narrows his eyes at me. "You're really enjoying the power trip of your own place, aren't you?"

I narrow mine back. "Under my roof, you obey my rules, young man."

"Oh, thanks for that flashback." He flops down lengthwise on the sofa and peers at me from under his arm. "You're really that concerned about my sleeping habits?"

"Not entirely. I'm going to bed, and I don't want you getting bored and going through my stuff."

He rolls his eyes. "Wake me up at five."

"Six."

"Five, or else."

I toss a blanket at him, "Or else what?"

"Or else I tell your super about your cloves."

_Damn_. I knew I should have used the Febreeze spray in here.

"You drive a hard bargain, Seaborn."

"I'm a big bad lawyer." He yawns and rolls onto his side in the other direction, looking anything but big or bad under my delicate pink and white afghan.

"Yeah. Goodnight, killer."

I shuffle off to my room and set the alarm for five-thirty, compromising for both of us, then stare at the ceiling for a while, waiting to drift off.

I have a nightmare I can't remember, and wake up to the smell of toast before the alarm goes off. I love how he makes me promise to get him up early, like he won't do it on his own anyway.

When I stumble to the table and stuff a piece of bread in my mouth, I notice Sam staring at me.

"What?" I mumble.

"You were talking in your sleep."

I shrug. "Anything insightful?"

"You sounded upset."

I pause, remembering a bad dream vaguely. "You were able to glean that through a closed door, from the living room?"

He ducks his head, "Well, I thought I'd make sure you -"

My toast hits the plate. "You watched me sleep?"

"I heard something. I briefly checked on you."

"Dude," I exclaim. "If I wanted 'Interview With the Vampire' moments while I slept, I'd call Brad Pitt, okay?"

"I was just making sure -"

"Yeah, yeah." I pick up the bread again. "You start getting creepy, you can't stay here anymore."

He laughs and pours the coffee. "But this is so much closer to work."

"You just like using my girly facial scrub in the morning."

"That too." He winks at me. "I'm a sucker for quality bath products."

I'm about to demand if he's to blame for the sudden disappearance of my good moisturizer when his cell phone rings.

"At _six o' clock_ in the morning?" I ask incredulously.

"It's almost lunch time in Europe," He reminds me annoyingly, and then takes the call.

It's Leo. It's a crisis. It's another day in the life.

*****************

I'm heading for the Mess with Sam's credit card in my pocket when Josh corners me next to Ginger's desk.

"Hey, Donna hasn't been in for two days," He says without preamble.

"Um. So?"

Josh looks at me like I'm crazy. "It's Donna, Ellie. She hasn't missed two days of work since...well, ever. And all she'll say is that she's sick. I'm telling you, it would have to be the plague."

"I saw her on Friday and she looked fine to me. I'm sure if she was dying, she'd notify you. You want something from the Mess?"

"No," He says, looking annoyed.

I flash the card. "Sam's treat."

"Hamburger. Burnt."

"Ginger?"

"Cherry danish," She says without looking up.

"'Kay." I go to move around, but Josh jumps back in front of me again.

"Ellie, come on. I need a favor."

I look at him suspiciously, but he looks sincere. "What kind of favor?"

"Look in on her for me. Make sure she's okay."

I don't know why the two of them won't just make out already. They're like soul mates that aren't even star crossed, just too friendly with denial to ever get it together. Although I think they know it deep down.

Which just makes the teasing way more fun.

"Why don't _you_ look in on her, Josh?" I say, smiling wolfishly, "I'm sure you could give her anything she needed."

Josh turns crimson, rubbing the back of his neck and ignoring Ginger, who's now smirking up at him from her desk. "Ellie, come on..."

"What's the matter, loser, you shy?" I reach up and pinch his cheek, and he jerks back, checking to make sure no one's noticing our exchange.

"Come on, I'll...pay you," He says lamely as CJ walks out of her office behind him.

"You couldn't afford me," I quip.

CJ pauses for a moment, looking at us, then moves off down the hall wordlessly.

"Oh, for the love of God, please stop..." Josh mutters, rubbing his temples with one hand.

Something about cracking Josh's usually uncrackable embarrassment just brightens my whole day. But I take pity on him. "Yes, I'll look in on her. Payment free."

"No, apparently at the price of busting my balls."

I consider it, and nod. "Fair enough. But hey, burger on Sam."

"We'll call it square. Here's Donna's cell number -"

"I already have it."

His eyebrow arches. "Why do you have Donna's number?"

"She's more than just your assistant, you know," I say, dripping with double entendre. "We're friends. We talk."

"About me?"

Sometimes I don't know how he fits all that ego in such a slender body.

"Oh, yes. All about you. We discuss all your amazing qualities while tirelessly working on our Josh Lyman shrines. Giggling. In our underwear."

He waves a hand at me, "Fine, fine, never mind. You'll check on her?"

"I'll check on her."

"Thanks."

"No problem. Burnt hamburger?"

"Yeah."

"Freak."

********************

That night I call Donna, but I'm not worried. Everyone gets sick sometimes, even wonder-assistant Donna Moss. Besides, even if she is sick, watching her squirm while I relay Josh's latest show of insecure doting is going to be totally worth it.

Donna doesn't pick up until the last ring. Her voice is very soft. "Ellie?"

"Hi, honey. You're sick?"

There's a very long pause. "Yeah."

"Your boss asked me to look in on you tonight."

"Josh?" She sounds amused.

"Yup. Offered monetary compensation and everything."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nope." I sigh dramatically, "It always makes my day to see him fawn over you."

"Ellie -"

"You know it's true. Are you still going to be up in an hour? I'll come over."

Another unusually long pause. "I don't know. Maybe you shouldn't bother."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"I...I'll probably be sleeping. I'm fine. Don't worry."

So something _is_ wrong.

"Well, based on my verbal contract with Mr. Lyman, I'm not sure I have a choice."

"Please," She says in a small voice.

Whoa. She's not sick. This is about something else. I straighten up in the chair.

"Donna, what's wrong?"

"I'm sick."

"You are not."

"Yes, I -"

"_Donna_."

Silence. I wait it out, wanting her to speak first. When she does, her voice is barely audible.

"You can come over. But you'll have to lie to Josh."

"Okay," I say without hesitation. God knows I love Josh, but my loyalty to Donna is much stronger. "I'll be there in fifteen."

My heart is pounding when I hang up the phone. There's a panicked burning in my chest like when you suddenly think there's a fire or a burglar in the house. Something's very wrong. There's not much Donna openly lies to Josh about.

I throw on a sweatshirt and grab my keys, creeping out of the Residence so as not to run into any family members or West Wing staffers. I make the trip in about seven and a half minutes after rushing through traffic, then spend five standing on the doorstep feeling nervous about ringing the bell.

Luckily, I notice the door's ajar, and gratefully let myself in, climbing the two flights of stairs to her apartment.

I knock. There's no answer. I wait.

I knock again. No answer.

I'm taking out my cell phone when I hear shuffling on the other side.

"Ellie?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you by yourself?"

"Uh, _yeah_."

Curiouser and curiouser. The door opens part way, and I let myself in after a moment, catching a glimpse of Donna's back as she walked towards the kitchen. When I catch up, she's standing over the stove making tea.

"You like green tea, right?" She calls.

"Yeah. Med school, you know. I'm all about the healthy."

I sit down gingerly at her rickety kitchen table and run my finger over the pattern. She gets down two mugs, tea bags, and steeps the tea meticulously. When everything's finished, she just stands at the counter, gripping the mug handles.

I watch the minutes on her microwave clock tick from thirty-three to thirty-four before I speak.

"So -"

"I have a problem."

"Okay," I say encouragingly. When she doesn't continue, I chuckle a little, "I sort of figured that much, Donna..."

"Don't laugh."

The chuckle dies in my throat. She doesn't sound like herself. "I'm not laughing at you, hon."

"I don't know what to do, Ellie."

"Tell me the problem. We'll figure out what to do."

"Matthew came to see me on Tuesday."

"Matthew -?"

"Goodman. The guy I've been seeing."

"Right, right," I say quickly, feeling guilty for not remembering.

"We broke up."

"Ohh..." Bad break up. I should've known. "He worked for -"

"Senator Studebaker."

"Right..."

"He, um..." She swallowed noisily. "Wasn't thrilled with me."

"What do you mean?"

If that asshole said one sharp word to her, I'm gonna...

"I'm pregnant."

I'm on my feet and I don't know how I got there. My chair sways precariously for a moment, then clatters to the floor. Donna jumps from the noise, and one of the mugs slips from her hand and breaks into pieces. Tea trickles across the linoleum, and she's instantly on her hands and knees with a rag.

"Don't," I say, grabbing a roll of paper towels, getting down to do it myself. Once I'm on the floor, we both freeze, looking at each other.

Instantly, I crawl across the broken porcelain and hug her. She starts crying, Donna-style, with lots of tears but no noise. I settle against the stove with my arm around her and hand her paper towel after paper towel until the flow stops, and she looks limp and exhausted.

I ruffle her hair a little. "Tell me."

"You already know."

"Not all of it. Tell me the parts I don't know."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "It was an accident, obviously. I don't know how it happened, but it did, and he..."

She falls silent until I nudge her. Then she closes her eyes and sighs, as if resigned herself to something. "He doesn't want me to keep it. In fact, he told me I couldn't. Not shouldn't, couldn't."

She sniffs, ripping off another paper towel and smiling wryly, "I should sic Amy on his ass."

"What do you want to do?" I ask.

"Keep it."

She sounds so sure already, and I can't keep the shock off of my face.

Donna looks upset. "Don't look at me like that," She snaps.

"I'm not...I don't..." I scramble to reach out and squeeze her hand, "It's gonna be okay."

I don't even know what I'm saying, but it sounds good from a million miles away. She's crying again, and that's when I get my mental feet back under me and I remember that pregnant or not, Donna is Donna. She's a sweet girl from Wisconsin who cares what everyone thinks of her, and that helps ground me.

"Josh is going to kill me," She sobs, "This is practically a gift wrapped scandal...he's going to fire me."

"Donna..." She's slumped down and I prop her back up, "He's not going to do anything of the sort. Even you at work with pregnancy mood swings is better than Josh left to his own devices."

A tiny smile.

"I'll be back in tomorrow," She says, "But I needed a couple of days, and I didn't want Josh to know..."

"Yeah."

"Or anyone in the office," She amends quickly, "It's not their problem."

It's hard not to laugh out loud at that statement while imagining what Josh, my father, or Leo, for that matter, would do upon hearing that some schmuck was telling Donna she didn't have the right to choose. The guy wouldn't be able to find employment anywhere except Burger King in a time span of twenty-four hours or less. It's a tempting notion.

"You can't tell anyone," She says, panicked, as if reading my thoughts.

"_You_ can," I hedge, "And he can't stop you. Or make you do anything."

Donna's silent, looking uncertain.

I squeeze her hand. "Tell Josh, Donna. Let him do what he does."

"No...not him," She shakes her head, then stops and looks at me. "Sam."

"Sam what?"

"Sam could do it. Josh is just...he's my boss, and I don't want to...y'know.."

I nod slowly, "I'm sure Sam could -"

"You tell him."

"What?"

Donna turns to face me, "Tell Sam for me. Tell him I don't want to know what he did, and I don't want anyone else to know. He's good at being discreet, right?"

I don't really know that much about Sam's experience as a lawyer and not a speechwriter, but I nod anyway. "Right."

She relaxes in relief, and I see the heavy circles under her eyes. I stand up and reach out my hand. "Come on. Bedtime."

"I can't sleep," She protests, letting me pull her up.

"Sure you can." I go to my bag and pull out a bottle of Nyquil, holding it out to her. "I bought it thinking you were sick. Take a tablespoon, you'll be fine."

She looks at her stomach, which is still innocently flat. "Isn't that bad for...?"

She can't seem to bring herself to say "the baby", as if it's no big deal.

"It's a tablespoon of Nyquil, Donna, not a keg of Jack Daniels. It won't hurt anything."

"Okay. Thanks."

I pick up my bag and keys, and then we look at each other for a long time.

"It's going to be fine," I offer, and she nods bravely.

"I know. I just hate feeling like the main character in an after school special."

"Not for long," I promise. I cross the kitchen and hug her, pecking her on the cheek.

"Call me in the morning," She whispers.

I don't start crying until I'm in my car and some depressing song starts playing on the radio. I'm not even sure why I'm so upset. I'm as desensitized as everyone else to those after school specials, but looking at the face of someone you know is different altogether. I don't want to think of anyone throwing Donna to the curb like trash. I can't.

I'm startled when I find myself idling outside of Sam's apartment. I'm tired, I hadn't planned to rush over and do this tonight, but here I am. It's almost midnight, but the lights in his windows are bright. I'm still crying, so I must be more upset than I thought I was. I feel a bit numb.

_Oh, what the hell_. I get out of the car and ring his buzzer.

*******************

**So I've moved to this new place where I don't know the city or the people or the language, and it's cool but also completely overwhelming..this first week anyway. I have no idea where I'm finding the time to write, but review love would be extra appreciated this time around...even if it's to say you're totally bored ;P xoxo**


	6. Chapter 6

**Alix33, D'Arcy and Nicole10 thanks for the feedback...much love to you guys!**

***************

**Ellie**

He answers almost immediately, and I find myself hoping he's not waiting up for someone else. I haven't seen as much of him this week, and I'd almost started wondering if he'd starting seeing someone and was avoiding me so it wouldn't be awkward.

"Sam?"

"Yes?"

"It's Ellie."

"Ellie?"

"Yeah. Can I bother you for a sec?"

"More than that, if you want."

The buzzer rings, and I go in, already sort of sorry to be crashing his night. He's waiting for me at the top of the stairs.

"Hey," I begin, but my face must be a mess, because he cuts me off, brow creased.

"What's going on?"

"I have a favor to ask you. That you're going to equally like and dislike."

"Okay," He says hesitantly, taking my hand and leading me to his door. We go in, and he gestures to the couch. "Sit. Water?"

"Please."

He comes back with ice water and crackers.

"Thanks," I offer weakly. He smiles, but doesn't answer, sitting down next to me and waiting for me to speak. I decide to dive right in.

"You know Donna's been home for two days?"

He snorts. "Everyone knows. Josh is self destructing by the minute trying to run his own life."

"Well, I just went to see her. And she's not sick."

He looks at me carefully. "Okay..."

"She's...she'll be in tomorrow. And she asked me to ask you a favor on her behalf."

"What is it?" He looks extremely confused, and I grope for a way to break it without him going into nuclear meltdown mode. Donna is like a little sister to him.

"Well...what exactly could you do about...Um. What do you know about Matthew Goodman?"

"Nothing."

"Well, he works for Senator Studebaker. I don't know what he does there, but if something had happened between them, hypothetically, and -"

"This is about her boyfriend?"

"Ex-boyfriend," I correct helpfully.

Now the anger is mounting. "Why does she need my help? What did he say?"

I lay a hand on his arm, taking a deep breath. "Sam, she's pregnant."

He stares at me blankly for a moment. "You're kidding me."

"I wish I was."

"You saw her?"

"Twenty minutes ago."

"Is she..?"

"She's okay." I consider for a moment. "She broke a mug, and cried."

"That doesn't sound that great."

"I didn't say 'great', I said 'okay'."

"So what are they going to do?"

I hesitate. He stiffens, "What?"

"Well...the 'they' part might be a bit of an overstatement..."

"He broke up with her?" He starts to jump up and I pull him back down, resting a hand on his shoulder. I try to break in, but he doesn't stop. "She tells him, and he breaks up with her? That son of a -"

"He didn't exactly..." I begin, and Sam shuts up, looking at me intently. This one's really going to hit him hard. I wince a little over the first few words. "I think he'd still date her. But only if she..."

It takes a few minutes, but luckily, Sam's a bright kid. He pales another shade, but doesn't fly off the couch again.

"If she gets an abortion." He finishes flatly. "He wants to run for something. He's worried for his image."

He grabs a legal pad off the coffee table. "Tell me, so I can start putting something together for tomorrow."

"I don't know much. It was an accident. He came over, told her she couldn't keep it, got angry, left."

"When was this?"

"Three days ago including today."

"You know, I can't really do anything here unless there's something -"

"I think he threatened her." I hadn't really realized that I do think so until just now. Something about the way she described it was off.

He hesitates and puts down the pencil. "Why isn't she asking Josh to do this?"

"She doesn't want him to know."

"It's going to be hard for me to keep this a secret from him."

"I know. But I don't think it's our place to divulge."

"No..." He rubs his temples, "Should I go and see her?"

"She's embarrassed, Sam. She said she didn't want to know anything about it."

Sam leans back against the couch and looks at me. "How are you?"

"Me? I'm not the priority here."

"I'm asking anyway."

I stare at my hands for a moment and try to collect myself. The song from the car starts playing in my head against my will, and my eyes prickle around the edges.

"I'm..." Apparently too choked up to speak. Inwardly, I flog myself to keep from crying. I look up and smile a little, "I'm gonna go."

I stand up, but Sam reaches out and catches my wrist. "Don't run off just because you're upset. I'm upset, too."

I can see that he is. There are worry lines between his eyebrows. I sit back down.

"It's just...it's Donna, you know?" I say, barely audible. He knows. Everyone feels the same way about her.

"I know." We're quiet for a while, but his thumb keeps moving on my arm, calm and constant. I lean into it a little, and he moves his hand to my hair, twining his hand through it. It's always been one of his favorite parts of me.

"Really, tell me how you are."

"You know how I feel about Donna, Sam. Everyone - "

"Not about this. In general."

I quickly vacillate between whether or not to lie. It's my impulse, but one curse of knowing Sam is his ability to see through me like I'm a sheet of glass.

"I'm apprehensive," I finally say carefully.

"About what?" We're both still staring straight ahead, but his thumb keeps moving on my arm.

"I don't know. Life. People. Who I want to be. Kid stuff, right?" I look up, teasing, but his face stays solemn as he answers.

"Not at all."

I'm surprised at how suddenly pensive he is. Is something going on at the office I don't know about?

"What's up with you?" I ask softly.

He shifts in that certain way he has, and I know what the words will be before he says them. "I can't really talk about it, Ellie."

"You know, my Dad's just going to tell me later," I joke, nudging him gently.

"It's not state secrets." He smiles a little, but his heart's not in it. Suddenly he does turn to me. "Does he tell you a lot? Do you know him well? Really well?"

Now I'm really taken aback. We've never discussed my relationship with Dad after my drunken rambling on Inauguration night. I consider it.

"Not _really_ well," I say slowly, "Not anymore. But I don't think he keeps secrets, either, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah. He's not that type," Sam agrees, and his face is an absolute storm cloud now. Whatever he'd managed to forget while we talked about Donna is back in full force.

"Sam." I turn myself to face him, putting my hand on his knee. "You look like someone just killed your puppy."

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, and I can see him fighting with himself.

"If it's not state secrets, then I don't need code word clearance," I tease softly, "You're allowed to -"

"My father's been having an affair."

My mouth drops open, and I'm instantly contrite for making jokes. "Oh, God..."

"Yeah. Apparently he _is_ the type who keeps secrets."

"For -"

"Since I was in elementary school."

I look at him in horrified wonder and try to imagine how he's even been able to function this week. There goes my theory of him being preoccupied because he's seeing someone.

"You didn't say anything," Is all I can think to say.

"I just..." He runs a hand over his face, then lets it fall back to his lap. I grab it, and it's cold.

"No, I didn't mean...I understand."

We don't speak again, but sort of cling to each other; my hand clasped on his wrist, his hand on my shoulder. It's a long time before we relax.

"I'm sorry," I whisper finally, and he moves his thumb on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah."

I let a minute go by, considering, before I offer up the only real consolation I have.

"My Dad did keep one secret from me."

Sam's head turns, but I keep looking straight.

"What's that?"

I smile a little. "Running for President."

I can see his eyebrows go up. "What do you mean?"

"He told Zoey and Liz, because he knew they'd be thrilled. He and Mom told them together. And he told me later, looking like he was headed to the guillotine, because he knew I wouldn't be into it like they were." I shrug. "It was true, and I couldn't blame him even then, but it still hurt." I look at him quickly. "Not that that compares to..."

"No," He stops me, "Thanks."

I struggle to think of something else to say, anything, but I don't know what to tell him. I can't say it doesn't matter, or that it will get easier. It's a huge lie. It undermines parts of his entire life, it taints every memory...words can't fix it. Not this soon, maybe not ever.

"It's not even just that it happened," He goes on finally. "It's how I handled it. How I acted today..."

"No one would hold you responsible, Sam. No matter how you acted."

"_I_ hold myself responsible. I'm thirty-four years old, I know how the world works. I should be able to..." He shakes his head, not going on.

"No one's a grown up when it comes to their parents," I tell him softly. "We all go back to being little kids."

He blinks and looks a little like he might tear up then, and I panic for him, wanting to avoid any further possible shame today. I throw my arms around him and wait until I'm sure his breath is completely steady before pulling away, and then we lapse back into silence.

He's holding my hand and practically breaking it, but I keep my mouth shut.

After a while, he lets go and picks up the remote, and we watch CNN. Somewhere in the middle of 360 with Anderson Cooper, Sam starts stroking my hair again, and I lean into it reflexively. I look at the clock and it's midnight.

"Do you want me to go?" I ask, and my voice sounds foreign in the silent room.

"No," He says without hesitation. My skin prickles a bit, waiting for what's next. The tension in the room is palpable, leading up to something.

"Do you ever think about the campaign?" He asks, and I find that I was already half-expecting him to bring this up tonight.

"Yeah," I answer truthfully.

"Do you think it was worth it? That we ended up...together?"

What does that mean? My eyes come up to his, and they're still dark, smoldering with opposing emotions. Sadness for Donna and anger for the lies of his father, stress from work, and affection with a slight tinge of desire for me.

"Yes," I say without hesitation.

"Do you ever wonder if it would be worth it now?"

Is it just me, or has he moved closer? Because I'm suddenly aware of his cologne now, and I wasn't before. I try not to let the fact that I can see the toned skin of his stomach through the gaps in his button up shirt factor into my answer.

"I don't know," I say blankly, "do you?"

"Sometimes I do." He threads his fingers through my hair again, "Right now I do."

"Right now?" _Gulp_.

"You could stay."

"Have you been drinking?" I blurt out.

_Like a bull in a china shop, Bartlet. Good job.  
_

He just laughs softly. "I had a beer about two hours ago. You don't have to worry about taking advantage of me, if that's what you're thinking."

"It's not."

"No?" He pulls me into his arms and kisses the top of my head, and I try very, very hard to convince myself I don't want to be there. He tilts his head towards mine slowly, and I can feel his breath on my face, warm and comforting as he hovers closer to mouth, his movements slow and questioning.

My inner dialogue starts screaming at me. _Get out now, Ellie, or you're going to wake up with him_.

"Maybe this shouldn't be our motivator for this," I whisper, pulling back almost imperceptibly.

His eyes are still half closed. "What?"

"What happened to Donna. Your Dad. I admit I'm upset, but if we start something..."

He doesn't let go, "Are you sure?"

_No. No, I'm not. Not at all.  
_

"Yes," I reply.

He lets go and I sit up.

"Okay," He says quietly, and picks up a napkin, dipping it in my untouched water glass as he speaks, cleaning the smeared mascara from my face. "Just remember I offered."

I stand up and so does he. We walk to the door and kiss quickly, like friends.

"See you tomorrow," I say lightly, trying to pretend my body temperature isn't ten degrees above normal.

"Tomorrow," He agrees. I start down the stairs and he leans over the railing watching me until I go out the front door.

I get in my car, lock the doors, and take a deep breath. Then I remember he's probably watching me from the window and fumble my keys into the ignition. The whole drive home I practically run the stop signs, interrupted by the thought of Sam's eyes smoldering at me.

I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach, an oddly familiar feeling, not unlike the one I had three years ago that fateful summer in Nashua.

It means life is about to get complicated.

***********************


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey everyone - hope you're having a great Spring. Have I mentioned how much I love hearing from you all? Thanks, as always, for your thoughts! Enjoy!**

************

**Ellie**

************

The next day, I swing by the West Wing to make sure Donna made it in okay. She's there, peppy as she always is to the naked eye. When she sees me, her smile falters for an instant, then springs back into place. Her ability to do that makes me wonder how much she's been through without anyone being the wiser.

She's arguing animatedly with Josh, covering the mouthpiece on the telephone receiver, which he finally takes with a roll of his eyes. I take the moment to slip over to her desk, but then find I don't know what to say.

"It's my mom," she blurts out, gesturing at the phone. "It's her birthday. Josh didn't want to say hi, but I told him he had to."

"I thought Josh liked your mom."

"He does, but she's still a Republican. He has to resist on principle." Her lunch is spread out on her desk, and she crunches a piece of celery absently.

I glance at Josh, who's fidgeting with the phone cord as he speaks, winding it around his finger into a knot and then letting it unfurl.

"Yes, ma'am. Yes, I'm making sure she has time to sleep...No, she's not getting too thin..." He catches himself appraising Donna's figure and averts his gaze sharply, blushing. "Um, I'm not sure if she's dating anyone. I don't really keep tabs on her personal life..."

Donna rolls her eyes. "Liar."

"I will...you, too..." He smirks as he hangs up with Mrs. Moss. "I always forget I like your mom."

She chucks the last bite of her celery stick at him, "You're a liar."

He plucks the celery from where it's landed in the crease of his shirt and pops it into his mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Josh, I run your personal life with one hand tied behind my back, and you nitpick at mine on a daily basis," Donna says dryly.

"So?"

"So I think that counts as keeping tabs on my personal life."

"Simply being aware of your poor taste in men isn't the same as taking an active interest, Donnatella. It's just there."

"We both know you could name my last three boyfriends if someone asked you to, along with an alphabetized list of their flaws. There is no one on the planet who would classify that as passive knowledge."

He narrows his eyes, but admits nothing. Donna smiles in triumph, knowing a victory when she sees one. "Ha."

Josh thinks about it, then shrugs. "Fine. You're right. Speaking of which, I haven't heard you spouting prose about your current closet Republican boyfriend lately. Trouble in paradise?"

Donna pales. "What?"

"What's up with the Goodman kid?" Josh demands, kicking his feet up onto her desk.

She shoves them off. "Nothing..."

He laughs, "Exactly."

"Shut up, Josh." She's playing back weakly, but I look around, desperate to change the subject for her.

"I'm thinking of dying my hair blonde," I practically bark. They both look up at me, a bit startled. Even in other's company, they sometimes forget they're not the only two people in the room.

Luckily, Sam's door flies open at that moment and he comes out, stopping short at the sight of the three of us. His eyes fall on Donna, and she quickly looks away. His jaw twitches almost imperceptibly.

"Hey, Josh, Leo wants to see you," He says casually, and Josh jumps up, pausing for a moment to lean over the back of Donna's chair to speak in her ear.

"I'm gonna want all the juicy, dysfunctional breakup details later," He teases.

Donna's eyes close heavily, but she calls back, "Josh, I've told you, you have to start calling Amy yourself."

"Shut up!" He says faintly from down the corridor.

There are a few beats of silence while Sam, Donna and I look at each other.

"You guys want to..." He gestures to his office, and we follow him in. He locks the door and stands silently for a moment with his back turned.

Donna fidgets nervously, darting looks at him, then at me. I shrug.

"Donna -" He finally starts.

"It's a really busy day," She says quickly, then looks even more nervous.

He turns around, surprised at her reaction. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I have a lot to do. Can we do this fast?"

"Sure." Sam glances at me, but I'm not any wiser about it than he is. Donna wasn't thrilled at the idea of a sitdown, which is why I came along, but she seemed resigned to it. She was jumpier and more awkward than I'd expected.

Sam sits at his desk. "Why don't you just tell me about Friday night?"

"He came over thinking we were going out to dinner, and I said we had to talk first." Donna shrugs lightly. "I told him. He explained extensively how the situation would hurt his image in his Senate campaign. Illegitimate children aren't a great example of traditional family values. He felt I needed to pursue an 'alternative course of action'. For his sake."

I can tell Sam's about two minutes from leaving the White House at a dead run with the intent of beating Matthew Goodman to a pulp, but he restrains himself. "And then?"

"I told him I wouldn't, that I had already decided. He became volatile. He pushed over a chair." Her breath catches a little. "It fell..."

"Did he push _you_?" Sam's voice is calm, even, and completely professional, but he's not fooling anybody.

Donna shakes her head, looking miserable. "No."

Sam glances at me, relieved, then back at Donna. "Did he threaten you?"

"No -" She breaks off, and I lean over and hold her hand. "Not exactly. He said if I didn't, he'd make sure everyone 'found out' about me and Josh."

"Found out what?"

"That we were...together. That that's how I got my job, since I'm so underqualified. When I told him it wasn't true, he said he'd do a good job of making sure people believed it was. He said Josh would have to resign, and I'd just be a college dropout with a decent resume."

Sam scribbles on his legal pad, "You know that's a bunch of crap, right?"

Donna doesn't answer, and Sam stops writing and looks at her. "Donna?"

"So what are you going to do?" She hedges, clipped, staring at her hands.

"Well, I was thinking -"

"Because I don't want anyone to think it's a personal favor between us."

His brow furrows, "I know that -"

"I need a lawyer, not a big brother."

They look at each other. It's a heartbreaking moment.

***********

**Sam**

*********  
**

Donna bursts into tears.

"I'm so stupid, Sam," She sobs, "I never should have kept seeing him."

"Donna..." I make my way around the desk as Ellie leans over and hugs her from the side. "You're not stupid. It wasn't your fault."

"He didn't tip waitresses. He laughed at bike accidents. I saw him kick a pigeon," She babbles, "I ignored all the signs!"

I can't help but flashback to everything Josh has ever said about Donna's inability to choose well. It's so irritating how his fixations are always based on the truth. When Donna dated Mark Warren, Josh predicted with almost eerie accuracy that after the third date, she would come back to the office one hour earlier than arranged, and be just drunk enought that he'd have to send her home. Of course, even though he was right, he hadn't sent her home so much as he'd punished her for going at all, forcing her to stay and proofread drafts of a speech he was giving at a Yale commencement ceremony. Bitter, disappointed, and three bourbons into the evening, Donna created her own version of the speech that couldn't exactly be called a tribute to the future.

When Roger Paulson from the GAO finally asked her out after months of flirting, Josh calmly informed her that Roger was an Ivy League elitist bastard who would politely excuse himself as soon as he discovered she hadn't even graduated from a state college. This led to a lengthy discussion about a) if it was even legal for a pot to call a kettle black to that extent, and b) whether or not Josh should shut the hell up and mind his own business. No one ever did find out exactly what transpired during that evening, but the next week Donna quietly signed up for her first Georgetown University correspondence course. Which she aced, of course.

How can someone as smart and independent as Donna not steer herself clear of some pigeon-kicking douchebag? I stare down at her sobbing shoulders and want to shake her exactly as much as I want to hug her.

"He doesn't care that I'm pregnant. He's going to ruin my life."

She hangs onto Ellie for a couple of minutes, then gets her breath back and tries to collect herself.

I crouch next to her, resting my hand on her knee. "If he tries anything, I'm going to kick his ass."

"Sam!" Donna shakes her head at me, scandalized, "No, you're not!"

"You're right," I amend, "Josh is going to."

"Josh isn't going to know!"

"Um," I raise an eyebrow, "He is eventually..y'know..."

I make arc motions over my stomach demonstrating pregnancy. She still looks panicked.

"My mother barely showed at all...I have genes for very low-key pregnancies."

"He's going to know. He's going to ask."

"I'll just tell him I'm getting fat."

"What are you going to do when you go into labor? Run to the bathroom, have a baby, and be back in time to send him a memo about it?"

She stares back, thinking, mouth slightly open. I pat her knee, her mouth closes and her head drops.

"He's going to be so disappointed in me," She whispers.

"Donna, come on," I say, "Josh wouldn't judge you for this."

"Josh judges everyone for everything," She counters, "But this? The underqualified, blonde assistant gets knocked up by the political equivalent of the JV quarterback? Please. This is a hey day for Josh."

"He would never do that," I insist, "He'll love you no matter what you do."

There's a long silence.

"What?" Donna forces out.

"Donna," I sigh, too tired for any version but the truth, "Josh is so totally in love with you, it's laughable."

She smiles nervously. "That's not true."

"Honey, come on."

"I...I admit we have a thing. A vibey thing, but it's just natural and fun and not something we act on." She gestures between me and Ellie, "Like you guys."

Her hand freezes in mid air when no one answers, then sort of drops to her lap like a deflating balloon.

Ellie sits, unmoving, like a creepy mannequin. There's an even longer silence.

"Um," I finally say, and that breaks the ice.

Donna's eyebrows go up. "Sorry, is that subject taboo or something?"

It's not really that I expected Donna not to notice...she's good friends with Ellie, and she's also one of the most perceptive people on the planet. But it's still an extremely delicate subject, and having it spoken aloud within the walls of the White House feels way too dangerous.

Not to mention the fact that she classified it as something not to be acted on. Granted, that's been true since Ellie came back to DC, but based on the mood the other night, I'm not ready to guarantee it will stay that way. More and more I've found myself wondering how far fetched it is, now that Ellie is twenty-one, to have an actual relationship. Sometimes I can almost convince myself there's a way, until I get to the part when the President finds out.

"No," Ellie finally says, snapping me back to the present, "It's just -"

"You don't have to explain." Donna stands up. "I better go, before Josh manages to destroy something I've spent a lot of time on."

"I'll talk to you later," I tell her, "About all of this."

"Thanks, Sam." She pauses. "Don't...just don't get in trouble or anything, okay?"

I smile at her. "No worries."

And there really are no worries. I won't tell Donna this, because I don't want to undermine her fears, but I don't believe Matthew Goodman ever planned to follow through on any of his meager little threats. Thinking you can intimidate someone's sweet, doe-eyed staff assistant is one thing. Taking the time and energy to actual follow through is something else entirely. I will take a few minutes to read the stupid kid the riot act, and I'm pretty sure my mere presence will be enough to get the job done.

"Sometimes I envy lesbians," Ellie says suddenly, and I blink a few times.

"Excuse me?"

"No offense, but men are idiots."

"I...can't really refute that."

She smiles. "Girls understand girls. Easiest relationships ever."

"You're speaking from experience?"

"I bet you'd like to know."

"I'm not getting into this with you today. Save it for my birthday."

I open my computer.

"Donna and I kissed once..."

I close my computer.

Ellie smirks, holding up her index finger for emphasis. "Once. Drunk. Silly. No Spice Channel antics to share."

She always was such a tease. Nonetheless, I can't resist. "On a dare? Like, maybe at a slumber party?"

She bursts out laughing. "Yeah, 'cause we're twelve, and this is the mid-nineties. We're adults, Sam. We go out with the girls, and do tequila shooters and act stupid."

"And never invite me," I add with mock sadness.

"You don't have the proper anatomy for girls' nights. Sorry."

"I don't know why you have to tell me these things on lunch hour. I'll be useless for the rest of the day."

"Please. Get enough espresso in your system, and nothing can stop you."

She stands and stretches. "Speaking of which...I could use a triple latte right now."

**  
***********

**Ellie**

*************

I expect him to get up and follow me to the Mess, but he just sits there, fidgeting with a pen. I drop my arms back down to my sides, confused. He looks like he's concentrating a little too hard all of a sudden.

"You're not mad about the Donna thing, right?

He glances up, smiling. "Mad about two gorgeous women making -"

"We never -"

He holds up a hand, "Please. I have an image I'd like to hang on to."

I smack his arm. "Shut up. It was completely innocent. Don't get your male perversion all over it."

"It can't be helped." He stares at me with a little smile until I sqirm.

"What?"

"I've never met someone so freakishly full of surprises."

The way he's looking at me gives me a stomach full of white hot butterflies. "If you hadn't used the work freakish, I'd thank you."

"Go to dinner with me."

I raise an eyebrow. "If I'd known one girl on girl story would get free food out of you, I would've told it a long time ago."

"Say yes."

"Did I not just express my appreciation for free food?"

He stands up and heads for the door. "You could invite Donna if you want."

"Samuel."

"Eleanor. There are going to be jokes about this. Live with it."

"Call me at eight?"

He nods, and I start to open the door. "Lesbionics aside, I think I..."

I stop speaking. Toby is standing directly on the other side of the door with a folder in his hands, looking at me in that straight-faced and uninterested way he has. He looks between the two of us a few times before speaking.

"I don't believe 'lesbionics' is a word."

"Uhh, I'm gonna go," I say, without breaking eye contact with him.

"Are you sure you don't want to finish your discussion?" He asks, and I know he's teasing me even though he doesn't crack a smile.

"Uh, no...it's not important."

"I can wait."

"No, no...you have important things to do. With..." I make a vague hand gesture, "America and everything."

"I'm glad that as a member of the First family, you can articulate that so well, Ellie."

It's my father, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Something about making lesbian jokes and then coming face to face with your dad minutes later is extremely ruffling.

He squeezes my arm. "By the way, Leo won't shut up about how beautiful you've gotten. I think he has a crush on you."

"Good, give him my number." I wink at Leo, who's standing just behind him. He reaches out and takes my hand, kissing the knuckles. I adore him.

Dad doesn't laugh. Leave it to him to get weirded out by his own joke.

Of course, in that moment, my mind drifts back to Sam. My father can't even laugh about me and Leo, a non-relationship that will obviously never happen and poses absolutely no threat. I can't even fathom the fireworks that would ensue should he ever find out anything about my not-very-professional attachment to his Deputy Communications Director.

As always, eight or nine different people materialize out of nowhere and start vying for Dad's attention, and he somehow manages to start a simultaneous conversation wtih all of them. Just as they start moving off down the hall, I grab Sam's arm.

"Still okay for eight?"

"I'll call."

I punch his arm lightly. "You're a good guy for talking to Donna."

He bites his lip a little. "How good?"

I'm startled. We're standing in the bullpen, what does he want? "Excuse me?"

"I think I deserve a reward of some kind."

My mouth falls open. "Sam," I admonish him incredulously.

"You don't think so?"

"I think you better hope this place isn't wired."

"Maybe you can tell me a little more about that kiss later."

"Do you realize that my father is in this hallway? Shut up before I have an aneurisym."

He tsks. "A little ungrateful, that's all I'm saying..."

I shake my head and point down the hall after the receding group of people. "Go."

He makes a face at me before he turns away, and I don't know why he's suddenly so cheerful, but it's infectious, and I grab his arm and put my mouth to his ear. "It was French." Then I spin on my heel and head the other direction, grinning, carefully not looking back.

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**Reviews are love. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Unexpected hiatus! Don't you love those? xxlust2dust: Happy belated birthday! Sorry I suck! And tons of thanks as always to everyone who reviews/messages me and reminds me not to be a slacker! xoxoxox  
**

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**Ellie**

******

It's just after eight and I'm still waiting for my phone to ring, when the door to my apartment starts hammering in it's hinges like the Gestapo are on my doorstep.

I jump, then cautiously move towards it. "Hello?" I lean to the peephole, but a particularly vicious pound makes the door jump, and I pull back.

"Who the fuck is it?" I snap, and my mind wanders the panic button hidden in my jewelry box.

The knocking stops, there's muffled shuffling, and then a voice, in an angry, bitter tone I've never heard it in before. "It's me."

"Sam?"

"Yeah."

I turn the lock and open the door cautiously, unnerved. "I thought you were going to call -"

He walks in right past me, going straight to the window and staring out, his fist pressed to his mouth. Before I can get another word out, he spins around. "You knew about this all along, didn't you?"

I'm staring, struggling to keep up. What possibly could have transpired between now and when we parted ways this morning that would be so bad? "Knew about...?"

"Relapsing, remitting Multiple Sclerosis. That's not a new phrase to you, am I right?"

Oh.

Okay.

It's as if the blood in my veins has suddenly been replaced with ice water, and I stand stupidly, wondering who found out. Because if Sam knows... For a moment, I forget he's there, and raise a hand to my mouth in worry.

"Yeah," He snaps, reacting to my obvious shock. "Cat's out of the bag."

"Who..." I start slowly, my voice dragging with shock.

"Toby." Sam starts pacing. "Toby knew something was wrong, he sniffed it out. And made up for the rest of us being so _stupid_!"

He raises his voice sharply on the last word, and I get a little sprinkle of butterflies in my stomach and gesture to the couch a bit timidly. "You want to sit down?"

"No," He answers stiffly, "I want you to tell me what exactly you got out of this."

My mouth hangs open. "_What_?"

"All this time...all this time we've spent together, and you don't even..." He cuts himself off, and starts pacing again, rapping his knuckles on the end table every time he passes it.

"Sam, I -"

"How could you do this to me? How could you not tell me? You just let me sit there in the dark like a fool."

I carefully steer clear of his path, unsure what to do. Being reasonable is the crux of Sam's entire personality, and hearing him truly upset is alien and strange. I'm not coming up with anything to say, torn between shock and sympathy. But I can't stand there mute, so what ends up coming out of my mouth sounds hollow and defensive.

"You know I couldn't say anything."

He scoffs. "The hell you couldn't."

I feel for him, but my eyes narrow. "You know, not every single thing about my family is your business - "

He lets out a short, barking laugh. "Maybe not. But this? Not only is this _my_ business, it's the business of every other American citizen who voted a lying fraud into office."

I feel myself flinch unintentionally, the words ringing in my ears. Sam reveres my father almost to the point of fault. He argues on his behalf for a living, and I'm inclined to believe he'd do it for free even if it wasn't his job. Listening to all of this is like dominoes falling down in my brain. Sure, it's not convenient. I never expected the news to be celebrated. But a lying fraud? It's not often that I feel the need to defend my dad, since I'm usually the one complaining about him, but it's too much even for me.

"Sam," I hear myself saying tonelessly, "If you want to talk to me, or yell at me even, that's fine. But please don't talk about him like that. There are things you don't know."

"Oh, really? Is there more where this came from? Is he a drug addict, a murderer, HIV positive? Is there anything else he kept under wraps to make our lives hell later?"

"Stop," I insist quietly, and to my surprise, he actually does. He's not really yelling anyway, just speaking heatedly, but when he sits down next to me, I'm still startled.

"I don't mean everything I'm saying," He says in a low voice, "But he went about this very, very wrong."

"I..." I start the sentence defensively, then stop short, not wanting to start him off again. He looks over at me, and I must look nervous, because his expression softens a little.

"Go ahead," He says in the same unfamiliar but quiet voice.

"I didn't know it was going to be looked at...quite like that. Politics aren't exactly my forte."

"Yeah."

I swallow. "They're going to call him a liar?"

"Yes."

"Could they..." I don't want to say it, and my voice drops unintentionally to a whisper, "Will there be some kind of trial?"

"I don't know, Ellie. Joey Lucas is coming in to take 'hypothetical' polling data. But we don't know."

"But why...it's nobody's business, Sam. It's in remission. He shouldn't have had to tell anyone unless -"

"Doesn't matter. It's a concealed medical condition, and there's no way to sugarcoat that."

I swallow, further unnerved by his finality. "Do the others know? Josh and Toby and..."

"Yes. They all knew." His voice gets bitter again, and I know there's something more there, but I don't press, wanting to maintain the calm. I study him for a moment, the way he's sitting rigidly on the edge of the couch, spine straight, head hanging slightly in fatigue.

"Do you really think I should have told you?"

"Yes," He answers with no hesitation, "I know it's complicated because of my position, but...yes, I wish you would have."

"Then I'm sorry."

He looks at me again, and reaches out to ghost his fingertips over my shoulder.

"Hey," He says softly, and when I finally look at him, his eyes are recognizable again. "Sorry for bursting in like that."

"It's okay..." I smile wryly.

"No, I freaked you out. I'm sorry."

"I didn't do so hot when I found out, either."

"When was that?"

"Sophomore year of high school. Although at the time we didn't know if it would go into remission or not."

"You thought -"

"He might not have a lot of time, yeah."

"I can't believe it was so well hidden."

"It wouldn't have been," I say truthfully, "If Mom wasn't a doctor. She was able to do most of it herself."

A thought hits me, and I sit up straight. "Is she going to be in trouble?"

"It depends on what she did."

"She did everything. She gave him the injections, with the -" I stop talking, already knowing the answer to my question. I flop back with a little laugh. "Well, that's ironic. My mother's an amazing doctor and my father's the President, but they're still going to be relying on me in their old age because they decided to get creative."

"It'll be okay."

I look at Sam. "You're changing your tune so fast my head's swimming, pal."

"I know. Look...it's just that I was the last one to know. I was standing in the Oval Office, and Josh and CJ and Toby are all giving me these guilty looks. And I shouldn't have come over here, but the only thing I could think was...that it sucks to be the last to know."

"And if I had told you," I finish, voicing his silent message aloud, "You would have known all along."

"Yeah." He smiles wryly, "I guess that's the fallout."

"Guess so," I whisper.

He's sitting forlornly, staring at his hands, shoulders slumped. It's a wrenching picture.

"Oh, Sam," I sigh, and crawl over into his lap, wrapping my arms around him, and he rests his forehead on my shoulder heavily. His breath makes the edge of my blouse flutter rhythmically, and I flash back to the lighthearted afternoon we had. The more time we spend bonding again, the more I worry about the future. But I like it. And it's nice to have a few less secrets.

"It's sort of a relief having you know," I confess, sitting back up.

He gives me a smile small, and I give one back.

"How're you feeling?"

"The same, but more subdued."

"I guess dinner's off."

He smiles wryly. "Yeah. We can still talk about Donna if you want, though."

My eyes narrow. "What about Donna?"

"Whatever you want," He says innocently.

"Shut up, Samuel."

"Fine, I'll start. Carmex or cherry Softlips?"

"I hate you."

"You love me."

He's teasing, but it's weird to hear him say those words. It actually knocks the wind out of me a little, and I cover up the moment I need to recover by clearing my throat softly before speaking.

"You want a glass of wine?"

"Four, please."

"As much as you want."

I walk into the kitchen and debate between merlot and zinfandel. Finally, I grab the merlot and two glasses, checking the microwave clock. It's eight-thirty. I don't want him going home alone and staying up all night, so the sooner he drinks a bottle of wine and passes out on my couch, the better.

When I come back, he's taken off his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his work shirt. I get nervous for a moment, and fight it down. We're supposed to be just friends now. Besides, who do I think I am getting worked up over one collar button? I'm too distracted by the look on his face to think about it much longer anyway.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Betrayal," He answers honestly, blinking up at me, still a little lost in thought. "He should have laid out the facts and let people decide for themselves. It's not having the illness that will ruin him. It's the lie. It's the betrayal. It changes everything."

I swallow hard. It's not just my father he's talking about this time, and I hurt so much for him in this moment. Hell, for Josh, too. For any of the good guys who work the caseloads of three people, in a profession where the men they could potentially look up to are nothing but crooks and thieves and liars. Especially when their real fathers are dead or unfaithful...or also crooks and thieves and liars.

I can't fathom from where they summon the will to care.

He speaks up then, as if reading my thoughts. "'_I know of no safe repository of the ultimate power of society but people. And if we think them not enlightened enough, the remedy is not to take the power from them, but to inform them by education_.'"

Well, there's my answer. When your own father sucks, rewind to the Forefathers.

I smile a little. "Jefferson, huh? I hear he was a well spoken guy. Didn't he write something about independence a long time ago?"

He plays along. "Something like that. We should look it up."

"Nah, we're Americans, remember? We're too stupid and lazy to care. Let's go to a Toby Keith concert or fill up the tank of our non-Hybrid SUV at Exxon instead."

He laughs, and I'm so relieved to hear it.

"I'm really glad I came here to yell at you tonight."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah. Me too. Let's make it a standing date."

I put the drinks down on the coffee table and take a seat on the opposite side from him. We pour glasses and stare at each other, lost for a toast. After a little consideration, Sam touches his glass to mine.

"To waking up and finding out this was a dream."

I nod. "If only."

We touch glasses and drink deeply.

**************

*******


	9. Chapter 9

**So if anyone's still out there....Longest. Hiatus. Ever? You can blame life. It's hard. It makes me want to give up trying to be legitimately successful, and just marrying rich. Anyone else?**

**Anyway, here's the next installment. I decided to quit torturing Ellie and Sam for a while, so we'll see how that goes. Enjoy. xo  
**

***********

*

**Ellie**

*

At work, I've holed up with Donna and helped her update her filing system. For the third time in six months.

"I literally have to keep two copies of every piece of paper that goes through this office," she complains. "One for me and one for Josh. He's supposed to have his own system, I set it all up for him..."

She heaves an overstuffed box from the floor up to her desk, and I wince. She's about to the point that I have to start laying down the law about being pregnant, but getting her to slow down is not going to be easy.

"...and a week later, I checked one of his drawers for a memo and the damn thing was completely empty except for a very rudely defaced picture of Republican congressman, and a stale sandwich. I don't know why I ever thought -" She breaks off, shaking her head, and presses one hand to her abdomen and the other to her lower back, the way she does when the baby is making her back hurt.

Entertaining as it is, I'm sick of hearing about Josh, so I jump on the opportunity.

"You've got to start taking it easy, Donna. You're what, five months now?"

"Five months on Friday," She says absently, rubbing her palm in small circles.

I squint at the oversized sweater set she's wearing, and even though it looks obvious to me that she's pregnant, no one has asked any questions yet.

"My mother had very low key pregnancies. Only gained seven pounds with each kid," She quotes automatically when she sees me looking, then frowns. "I've gained eleven pounds."

"You're not actually upset about that, are you?"

"No, no...I'm just suprised all it takes to hide it is a sweater. If I'd known no one would even notice, I wouldn't have bothered losing the five pounds from Christmas." She shrugs, and leans over to grab another box, but I grab her wrist.

"I'll get it," I say pointedly, and steer her toward her chair. "Sit down. Ask for help. Act pregnant, for God's sake."

"I don't -"

"Have time, yeah, I know. Well you better start making time, honey, or you're going to be in a scheduling nightmare when you don't have the choice anymore."

"I still have four months, Ellie -"

"You haven't even told Josh," I point out, "and he's going to need a few weeks just to get over the premise that you've ever slept with someone else."

She flushes red. "That is so -"

"True?"

"_No_ -"

Her phone rings and interrupts us.

"Hello? Hi, Sarah. Yeah, I'll put him on." She leans back in her chair and screams, "_Josh_! Jaymore on two!"

I give her a startled look, and she shrugs, mining in her desk and pulling out a bag of Skittles. "What? I'm not getting up, because I'm pregnant. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Predictably, Josh appears two minutes later with his brow creased. "Um, have we gone back in time with the screaming, or is the part of your brain that used to know about the intercom now filled with some article you read in Cosmo?"

"Thanks, Josh, my morning falls really flat without a little sexism in the workplace."

"I'm just saying -"

"You're the one who hates your intercom, I'm just taking a stand about not having to run from my desk to your door every time you have a phone call."

"Alerting me to a telephone call from very important constituents is not exactly outside your job description, Donnatella -"

"Sure, but the medium in which you are alerted is completely negotiable."

Josh looks hesitant, like he's aware something weird is going on, but can't even imagine where to begin investigating. Donna throws her candy back in the drawer and stands up.

"Also, I refuse to lift boxes over ten pounds from now on. If you get to mock me for being a woman, I don't have to lift like a man." She winks and me, grabs a stack of outgoing mail, and struts away.

I have to admit, the woman is pretty ingenius when it comes to playing Josh. He's still standing there motionless, eyebrows wrinkled together, mouth slightly open. He turns to me, "Did she attend some kind of empowerment rally recently, or...?"

I shrug innocently, open the drawer and retrieve the red bag inside, popping a few in my mouth and holding it out to him. "Skittles?"

*

*****************

*

I've gone out of my way to make a point that I'm busy lately as a way to let Sam off the hook. Fussing about taking Donna shopping, making a point of how tired I was at the end of the day, or just disappearing with a goodbye or a chance to make plans. His comments in my apartment the night of the MS fiasco made me wonder if he was doubting our relationship, however one would classify it. His remark about 'the fallout' of us spending time together stung, as if he felt short changed somehow.

Not that it was so hard to understand. I was like the combination lock on the vault of my father's secrets...information which had twice as much value as it had before, now that everyone was tripping over themselves to dig for more dirt.

Sam wouldn't do that, but I still wanted to give him an out. I didn't want to put him in the middle of something awkward.

At first I thought he was taking me up on my silent offer, but the second week goes by and suddenly he's cornered me in the mess, offering me a bite of the half eaten cookie in his hand.

"Why are you avoiding me?" He asks bluntly as he trades me the cookie for the stack of memos I'm holding.

"I'm not, I just thought you might need some, y'know...space or something."

"I never need space from you." He smiles, and it's so sweet I don't have the heart to tell him one of his front teeth is blackened from biting into a chocolate chip.

I find my way to a table and he follows, easing into the chair across from me. "How's Donna?"

"In denial."

"About?"

"Everything in her life that exists outside the realm of Josh Lyman's office."

"That doesn't sound good."

I break another piece of cookie off, then hand the last bite back to Sam. "Has Josh never seen a pregnant lady before or what? It's getting kind of apparent."

"Josh is pretty good at denial, too."

"You think that's what it is?"

"No, I just think he's oblivious."

"Avoidant, oblivious, and egomaniacal. Why is this man practically running the government again?"

Sam shrugs. "Went to Harvard?"

"Eh. Good enough."

Ragging on Josh is always good for neutral conversation, but a few beats go by, and suddenly I remember that I'm trying to take a step back. So I reach for the stack of papers and look at the top sheet, giving him the chance to take off.

Instead, his shoe knocks mine under the table. "You didn't answer my question."

I glance up. "What question?"

"The one about why you're giving me the cold shoulder."

He gives me a soft smile, half teasing, but I don't return it. I'm surprised. I was trying to be courteous, not cold.

"I'm not," I insist, "I really thought you might want me to back off."

He leans forward over the table. "Have I ever told you I want that?"

I swallow. "No."

"So it's interesting how you keep coming to that conclusion. Maybe you're the one who wants space."

"_No_, Dr. Freud," I snap, rolling my eyes. "I just thought you might be over having to deal with the whole 'boss's daughter' thing for a while. It kind of sucked for you last time, remember?"

He suddenly doesn't look amused anymore. "Shit, Ellie, I didn't mean for it to seem like that."

"I know," I assure him, "But still. Don't feel bad if it's true."

"It's not. I've missed you."

I smile to myself and flip a page. "Maybe you want to cash in that raincheck for dinner then?"

"Absolutely. Where do you want to go?"

I look at him, startled. "Well, we can't go out."

"Why?"

"Because a picture of us, alone...in a restaurant somewhere...could cause some trouble, right?"

"Not unless you're a call girl, to my knowledge."

I roll my eyes. "Sam, I can tell you for sure my Dad would not appreciate gossip about any senior staff members taking his daughter out. And CJ would probably just punch you in the face."

He considers it. "I'll cook."

"Thatta boy."

"Will you be home by seven?"

"I can be."

*

**********

*

I don't know why I'm nervous, but I dawdle coming home. I'm surprised by Sam's enthusiasm, and how he's suddenly so confident about taking me out, even though it's a date confined to the house.

It was like he had had some realization that I'm not privvy to, so I meander around the Mall for a while to think about it, making my way down towards the Tidal Basin. Flocks of tourists have arrived for cherry tree season, so spending a little time at the Jefferson memorial is more entertaining than TV. But after a while it starts to drizzle, and I can't justify any more extra time.

There's music coming from my kitchen when I get in, and I smile, unexpectedly comforted by the sound of footsteps and water running. It has been kind of dull spending every night alone.

"Honey, I'm home," I sing softly, stepping up to the counter and peering over Sam's shoulder to survey the progress.

"Great, make yourself useful." He hands me a knife and gestures to a massive red onion sitting on the cutting board.

"So much for being waited on," I tease, peeling off the last bit of the onion's peel with a melodramatic sigh. "I guess chivalry's dead."

"You feminists, always wanting to have your cake and eat it, too." Sam puts a zucchini on the counter, adding it to the growing pile of vegetables. "You get to vote, now quit whining and cook."

"I'd still have to cook if I couldn't vote," I point out.

"And clean, and obey, and make babies," He adds.

I laugh. "What is that, a wish?"

"Maybe." He pokes me in the side. "I didn't figure you for one of those hairy modern suffragettes."

"Touche. I didn't figure you for one of those arrogant modern misogynists."

I'm holding back laughing, willing to keep up the charade a little longer, but he beats me to it, laughing outright.

"A misogynist, huh? I hate women?" He stops my chopping as he speaks, pushing the knife away and pulling me against him, breathing into my hair. "You think I hate how good you smell? How damn soft your skin is? The way your hair-"

"Sounds like it," I interrupt stubbornly, voice muffled against his shirt. I'm about to speak again when he pulls back and kisses me, and I struggle in surprise for about two seconds before melting into it.

I thought it was a game. We were messing around, snarking the same way we always do, and now I'm kissing Sam in my kitchen and I can't remember if I was happy, or hungry, or what my middle name is.

And just when I'm rendered completely limp, he pulls away and whispers, "Take it back."

"Huh?"

"You heard me."

"...Huh?"

He's so close, and I move forward again, but he leans back. "Tell me I'm a perfect gentleman."

"You bastard..." He's incredibly pleased with himself, and I'm half tempted to refuse just for fun, but my knees feel like jelly, my heart is pounding, and I don't really care about calling his bluff anymore. But I can't let him completely off the hook so I turn my head to the side and speak directly into his ear, making sure my lips barely touch him. "You're a gentleman...but sometimes I wish you weren't."

His hands, which are holding my elbows, suddenly turn into a vice-like grip as he closes his eyes and sighs. I wait to see what he'll do.

To my surprise, he draws back and lets me go, staring at the half prepared meal and then back at me.

The question is loud and clear, and practically tackle him, mumbling, "Forget about it."

He's caught me around the middle and pulled me up to face level so that the toes of my shoes are just barely brushing the floor. My polo shirt has ridden up in the back, and his hand is soft and hot against the bare skin of my back.

I catch sight of the clock as he lets my feet down and starts maneuvering us into the living room, and I can't believe I've only been home fifteen minutes. The air suddenly feels so electrically charged that the whole place would go up in flames from one spark.

For some reason, neither of us are mustering up the will to hesitate tonight. No one pauses to wonder if this is a good idea, or worry about tomorrow, or care if it's inappropriate. We're making a mess of the apartment on our route to the bedroom, tripping over things and laughing like irresponsible kids.

When we finally make it there, we get a little more serious, but that's quickly over when I stub my toe on the bed frame and yelp. He giggles, then shakes it off when I glare.

"You okay?"

"I'll live." I flop backwards onto the bed, curling my leg up to examine my injured foot, then stretch my leg out. "You know what to do."

To my surprise, he actually snags the foot, keeping his eyes on mine as he plants a kiss on it, managing to make it the hottest thing I've ever seen. I thank God I remembered to get a pedicure over the weekend as I lean forward and grab him by the front of his shirt, dragging him closer.

He slides up to eye level, then lets himself flop down on top of me, and we both huff a little from the impact and then stare at each other.

"Don't start talking," I warn, worried he's going to start analyzing or get a guilty conscience at any moment.

But he shakes his head slowly in agreement, his index finger tracing the side of my face. "I don't want to talk."

The familiarity is the best part. Sam uses the same laundry detergent he did three years ago, and his hands still always smell like the special lotion he uses to protect his computer keys. All the little things I love about him stay constantly the same, which makes it so easy to relax, and just revel in it.

Time blurs.

He's careful, because he's Sam, but not as careful as he was three years ago when I was very young and he was still half convinced he was going to end up in jail or hell for what he was doing.

I touch his face and he calls me sweetheart, and for a while I remember why it's not always best to push people away, because this - knowing someone, connecting with someone, letting go - nothing could possibly be better than this.

**********

*

**These two deserved a little love. But there will be consequences eventually. Aren't there always. Next time we'll get back into Sam's head, so stay tuned, be lovely and revieeeew. :)**


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